Our generation can easily be described as experienced consumers; social media, clothes, food, events, news, music – you name it, we’ve bought it. But why is this such a widespread phenomenon among the young population of the developed world, especially considering the ever-growing anti-capitalist and environmental activism, both of which stand against this very notion? In my opinion, it’s all down to our trend-oriented culture.
Firstly, let’s consider the concept of romanticisation. By definition, to romanticise something is to present it in an idealistic light, often making it out to be much better than it truly is (whatever it may be). I’ve seen this term thrown about a lot, in many different contexts – we romanticise lifestyles (“that girl”), personality traits, academia and its portrayal (the Netflix series “Gilmore Girls”) – the list goes on. We also romanticise aesthetics, which is what we will focus on now. An aesthetic is something often born out of trends on social media, the primary source having changed over the recent years from the early-2010s Tumblr to Pinterest, to today’s TikTok, and they incorporate fashion, makeup, everyday habits and even certain objects. A good example that most of us are likely to be familiar with would be the VSCO Girl of 2018. A VSCO Girl was easily identifiable by her Hydroflask, metal straws, seashell bracelets and, of course, the Kånken backpack. Notice that all the above are tangible objects, that would require a sizeable amount of pocket money to obtain. Social media (like Pinterest and the VSCO app itself) catalysed the consumption of all the items related to the trend, by promoting the aesthetic with an “all or nothing” undertone – you either had your velvet scrunchies in all the possible pastel colours of the rainbow, or you weren’t a true VSCO Girl. Influencers partaking in this trend promoted the ideal even further, both through brand deals that encouraged fans to buy not just any metal straw, but the Chamberlain Coffee metal straw (which, of course, costs more), and through sharing their newfound joy visualised through photos – taken with an Instax, naturally – on their platforms, presenting only the best, most aesthetically pleasing images. That is the romanticisation that, both consciously and subconsciously, helped the brands involved to capitalise off the pure desire of teenagers to experiment with their identity, and to seek out their own aesthetic, by participating in the trends of the moment along with their friends.
Now, let’s look at how activism can achieve a similar goal. Most of us are outwardly passionate about one or more causes, frequently researching ways to contribute and help. An example that springs to mind is Sustainability activism, which happens to be a personal interest of mine – and it is a rather ironic example. If you search for “ways to help the environment”, one of the first things you’ll see is a suggestion of going zero-waste. Suppose it piques your interest, and you research this lifestyle change, perhaps finding a plastic-free store near you and a couple of accounts on social media to get a realistic understanding of the right way to go about diverting waste from landfill. All this is great advice so far, but as soon as you start reading guides to “bulk-food shopping” and “sustainably packaged makeup”, a surprisingly high number of affiliate links begins to appear – which work by seemingly simplifying your life by providing exact locations of where to buy this mason jar, or that compost bin. Those links are the equivalent of brand deals; companies ask the blog writers to insert their link as the recommended product to increase reach, in return providing them with a small percentage of the profits from when you, the reader, purchase the product through the convenient link. Yet this isn’t even the main bone I have to pick with blog posts like that – after all, they do help you to organise everything you may possibly need to help a good cause. And that is the issue. It’s the chasing of the aesthetic again – and the requirement to buy more things to confirm that you are, indeed, going zero-waste. You are conditioned to buy jars, containers, compost tins, foldable cutlery, tote bags, shampoo bars and an ever-increasing volume of oils, butters and beeswax, even if you already own something similar (like normal Tupperware, or that old lip balm that is still half full), because ticking off the giant shopping list makes us feel like we are committing to the cause. After seeing how all the zero-waste gurus of the Internet store their dried chickpeas in glass containers, we must also. If they use coffee grounds to fertilise their plants, then we must also, even if it means buying a new plant, or drinking more coffee (remember the metal straws!). And that is where the irony lies, for the original hope of reducing your carbon footprint has been practically undone with all the deliveries of tiny stainless-steel tubs you ordered to store your homemade sugar lip-scrubs.
Overall, we can see that the consumer culture in the developed world is, by and large, a product of the digitalisation of, well, everything in our lives. We do our shopping online, making it a lot easier to spend money (by taking away the physical aspect of giving it away), we consume media, which has become very effective at promoting products with the use of analytics and personalised suggestions across platforms, and we follow cultural trends, to varying degrees, which dictate what we need to obtain to make our lives better. And they might – at least until the culture shifts again.
